


The Things We Share

by GoodyearTheShippyCat



Category: Starfighter (Comic)
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Awkward Conversations, Awkwardness, Blow Jobs, Canon Disabled Character, Developing Friendships, Developing Relationship, Disability, Ethos is a Good Friend, Feels, Frottage, Hand Jobs, Hiding Medical Issues, Injury, Long Hair, M/M, Masturbation, Medical Conditions, Misunderstandings, Morning Wood, Panic Attacks, Personal Growth, Post-Battle, Praxis Feels, Rare Pairings, Rimming, Sleeping Together, Space Battles, Surprise Kissing, Table Sex, Topping from the Bottom, Using Appropriate Amounts of Lube
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-15
Updated: 2018-02-15
Packaged: 2019-03-18 21:01:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13689723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GoodyearTheShippyCat/pseuds/GoodyearTheShippyCat
Summary: Praxis and Keeler find common ground in living with disabilities/chronic conditions. In supporting each other, they both learn a few things.





	The Things We Share

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is set starting somewhere in Chapter 3 of the comic, before the skirmish with the Colteron patrol, and goes to around midway through Chapter 4, or perhaps a bit after that. The timeline is probably stretched out relative to the canon story, but without concrete dates, it’s hard to tell.

_Being caught in the middle of a lovers’ spat when you aren’t one of the lovers is really not a comfortable place to be_ , Praxis thought to himself, trying not to listen too closely to the heated conversation happening directly in front of him.

At the end of the morning PT session, Encke had asked him to stay behind for some additional feedback. Praxis knew he hadn’t been on his game that morning—he’d been favouring his blind side too much and left himself open to attack from other directions because of it—but stayed to listen respectfully to the suggestions given by the Lead Fighter.

Unfortunately for Praxis, this was also when Keeler had chosen to come over and start an argument with his counterpart. Because life apparently had it out for him, determined to fill his days with as many mildly awful situations as possible. Encke hadn’t dismissed him yet, so he just stood there, pretending to be fascinated by the gym equipment while the two officers had a hushed dispute over something seemingly insignificant.

“…but how am I supposed to manage that _and_ have time to look over all the new analyses being turned in by the navigators today?”

“I don’t know, Keeler, but it’s not relevant to the fighters, so I really don’t think I’ll be able to provide any useful feedback to Command…”

From anywhere else but right beside them, it wouldn’t appear to be a fight. It was all passive aggressive, quiet disagreements swathed in a disguise of the usual polite sweetness Keeler was known for throughout the ship. Out of earshot, they could have been discussing anything from ship upgrades to whether they should get a cat or a dog once the war was over.

Rumours had been swirling of late, suggesting that the lead team had finally, _finally_ gotten together. You didn’t need two eyes to notice the way those two had been circling each other, at least since he’d been assigned to the _Sleipnir_ —so maybe even earlier. Adding fuel to the fire was the fact that recently Encke had apparently stopped hooking up with his usual fuck buddies, one after another. The gossip-mongers in the Fighter base had been having a field day over that, but Praxis doubted the conclusion generally being drawn.

 _After all, if Encke were getting some on the regular, why would he be riding everyone so hard in training for the past few weeks?_ he thought. _Maybe Keeler doesn't put out. Or maybe he’s just a bad lay..._ _but even if he were terrible in bed, it would probably be worth it just to trail your hands through that corn silk hair..._ Praxis arrested that train of thought, embarrassed, and went back to pondering the pattern of scrapes along the metal floor.

Eventually, Keeler stalked off in a huff and Encke finished what he had been saying without missing a beat. Praxis nodded and agreed where necessary, though he wasn’t really listening by the end of it. He wanted nothing more than to escape the conversation by that point, despite Encke’s returned professionalism. His complete lack of acknowledgement that Praxis had just been witness to a much-too-personal seeming discussion—even if a transcript would show nothing but a disagreement about time management and division of labour—was unnerving. He headed for the locker room, which was now empty. The other fighters had apparently cleared out while the Lead Fighter and Lead Navigator had been arguing.

After showering quickly, jerking himself off under the warm spray of water—thoughts of a pale, lithe body up against a dark, muscled one shamefully getting him to completion—he dressed and headed out. And, of course, bumped straight into Keeler, who was exiting a supply room just off the door to the gym. _Thank you, universe, for this unasked-for, awkward coincidence_.

The slender navigator looked exhausted and slightly more disheveled than his usual air of perfection would allow, so for a moment Praxis wondered if he’d been crying. Except his eyes weren’t red or puffy. Keeler glared at the taller man, pupils narrowed in their field of pale blue; like hard, black diamonds shining out from his delicate face. The effect was chilling, especially contrasted against the friendly approachability the officer usually exuded.

“Return to your duties, Fighter.” Keeler ordered in a flat, commanding voice before whipping around and striding away down the hall.

 _Those two really need to get their shit sorted_ , was all Praxis could think, shaking his head and heading in the opposite direction.

 

***

 

Another day, another skirmish with the Colterons. Not even a bad one; no ships lost, the enemy driven off. It was a solid victory for the Alliance. An easy one, even. But apparently that didn’t matter to Praxis’ brain, which had decided to fuck with him again. He could almost feel the jolt of a hard landing, despite the expert touchdown Ethos had actually made. He could practically taste the blood in his mouth, feel the sharp pain in his empty socket, even though he logically knew that he was in no worse shape than he’d been when waking up that morning. The panic and feeling of yawning, cavernous _loss_ —so vivid it felt no time had passed at all—were all he could focus on. The voice of his current, perfectly alive navigator registering only as buzzing, senseless noise over their helmet comms.

He couldn’t pinpoint what had set it off, what had triggered the awful deluge of sense memories and supressed emotions. Why it had happened today, but not earlier in the week, during a more harrowing battle. It made his hands shake as they desperately tugged at the restraints holding him in his cockpit seat, pawed clumsily at the controls to open the hatch and get out of the confining space, and pulled at his helmet. His stomach churned as memories of that awful day came unbidden to the forefront of his mind, overlaying and distorting the perfectly normal, safe reality beyond. It caused him to nearly flee the hangar the minute his boots touched the solid metal deck, ignoring Ethos calling after him. He wove through the cheering, happy soldiers and crew members celebrating a job well done, barely even seeing them.

Escaping the bustling hangar, Praxis entered a nearby cargo hold, not bothering to look around, barely making sure the door slid closed behind him. He sank heavily to the ground, head in his hands, sweat pouring off his brow, and shaking all over. Waiting out the attacks always felt interminable; like it would never end, like this time he’d just be stuck in his own personal hell for the rest of his cursed life. As he slowly calmed down enough for reality to start creeping back in around the edges of his panic, he heard laboured breathing that wasn’t his own. His blood felt like it had turned to ice in the space of a heartbeat. The thought that someone had been there watching him in a moment of such miserable weakness was almost as unbearable as going through it in the first place.

The fighter peered around the side of the large crate he had ended up leaning back against. Tucked into the corner of the storage space was Keeler, looking deathly pale, collapsed on his side on the floor. Praxis found himself torn between wanting to run and wanting to shove aside the last of his panic to make sure the other man was okay. Flight or fight, the oldest instinctual choice.

The Lead Navigator opened his eyes and made the decision for him. “Don’t… leave... that’s… an order,” the white-uniformed man managed around wheezing breaths. His gaze wasn’t quite focused, but he attempted to make eye contact nevertheless.

Praxis spun back around the crate but didn’t move to get up, his head falling back against it with a soft thud. He wiped at his face, brushing aside sweat commingling with tears, and took a few deep breaths before going to sit beside the navigator.

“Are you okay, Kee– uh, sir?” he asked, “Do you need to go to medical?”

“ _No!_ ” Keeler practically yelled, raising his head and shoulders from the floor with obvious strain, then collapsing to the ground again from the effort.

“Okay, okay, no medical... umm, is there anything I can do?”

The other man didn’t answer, so Praxis just sat there quietly with him for a while, still coming down from his own unpleasant state. When it seemed he’d recovered enough to sit up, the fighter tried to help him. Keeler slapped Praxis’ hands away, resting his weight against the bulkhead to stay upright. A hostile silence sat heavily between them, but Praxis didn’t want to leave the other man alone, in case he collapsed again.

Keeler reminded him of a hurt animal that had been backed into a corner. A whole other side of him had come out; scrappy and hissing and threatening, even though he knew he was too weak to fight back. _Even more dangerous like that, in some ways_ , thought Praxis, recalling a docile pet rat that one of his sisters had taken in as a child. One day, a bully from down the road had grabbed it from her and snapped one of its legs. With his sister’s cries loud in the background, he had tried to collect the rat from where it scampered off to hide, getting bitten badly for his trouble. All he’d wanted was to help the poor creature, but the more he tried, the further away it hobbled. It ended up ducking into a hole in the foundation of an old building, never to be seen again.  

Praxis was startled out of his reverie when eventually, Keeler stood on shaky legs, hands resting on top of the crate closest to him for support.

“I don't think I need to tell you not to mention this to Encke. Or anyone else,” he said tersely, before turning his back on Praxis, braid flicking over his shoulder. He left, walking slowly but much steadier than he’d been only moments earlier.  

 _What just happened?_ Praxis wondered to himself, trying to collect his scattered thoughts before heading out of the room in turn.

 

The next day, Praxis found himself cornered by Keeler when leaving a fighter training simulator room after working out his frustrations. What the navigator was doing on the Fighters’ decks was beyond him, but there was no escape. At least the corridor was empty for the moment.

“Listen up, because I’m only going to warn you once,” Keeler hissed under his breath, drawing himself up to his full height and leaning into the larger man’s space threateningly, “If you tell anyone about what you saw yesterday after the battle, your Alliance career is over.” He jabbed one thin finger into Praxis’ chest for emphasis. “You weren’t exactly fit for duty, yourself. Who do you think Command will believe? Missing an eye, you’re already just barely hanging on to your position as it is.”

Praxis glowered, wanting to challenge him, but remained silent. He didn’t want to make more problems for himself than the situation already presented, and blurting out the wrong thing seemed like a surefire way to end up reprimanded.

Keeler searched his face, gaze intense, then nodded once and stepped back. A friendly, pleasant mask came over features that just moments before had been unnervingly fierce.

“I’m glad we had this chat!” said the pale-haired man cheerily, turning to leave. He strode in a relaxed manner towards the elevator at the end of the hall, head held high—a bit of tension in his shoulders the only evidence of their confrontation. It was like seeing two completely opposite sides of a coin; the approachable public face of the navigational officer, and the menacing flipside which was all the more effective for how rarely it surfaced.

 

***

 

Praxis watched Keeler more closely after that day. Fighters didn’t cross paths with navigators other than their own that often, at least outside the mess hall. However, as Lead Navigator, Keeler often came to find Encke while he worked with the fighters. He also wasn’t hard to spot when he was around, bright white uniform sticking out like a sore thumb amongst the worn and torn dark-coloured fatigues that usually dominated this part of the ship.

It wasn’t long before he caught sight of Keeler alone in the halls of the Fighter levels, probably having just come from another quarrel with Encke, judging from the pained expression on his face.  

 _Oh no, not this again_ , thought Praxis, concern coming over him as he watched the long-haired navigator.

Keeler was shaking like a leaf and swaying towards a storage room a few doors down. Praxis strode quickly to the willowy man’s side, just in time to catch him as he fainted. Picking him up, the fighter was surprised by how little Keeler weighed in his arms; even as unconscious, dead weight. Shifting the slender navigator against his chest so he could use the door panel with one partially-free hand, Praxis carried him into the small, cluttered space. Lowering Keeler’s limp body to the ground, Praxis sat down as well, watching over him. Clad in only his flight suit, he didn’t even have his jacket to fold up as a makeshift pillow. He rested the officer’s pale blond head in his lap, for lack of anything soft to put it on in the cramped storage area.

When Keeler’s eyes fluttered open again, Praxis immediately asked the question that had been bugging him for the past quarter of an hour. “Does Encke know? He’s your partner, and he deserves to know if you’re endangering him.”

Still looking ill, a few beads of chilled sweat standing out on his forehead, Keeler stirred. He tried to shift off of the larger man, but was still too weak. It didn’t stop him communicating exactly how pissed off he was, though.

“Does Ethos know?” he spat back, “You may be lying… to the doctors… about your psychological recovery—” his speech cut off, breathing erratic.

 _Shit. That was probably not the best thing to open with_ , Praxis thought to himself glumly. _The last thing Keeler needs right now is me getting on his case. Stupid, stupid._

They stayed in that position for a while longer, until Keeler had recuperated enough to sit up under his own power. With the navigator leaning back against the small space of unobstructed wall next to him, Praxis happily shifted his legs, which had been falling asleep. The pins and needles started to disappear, but no words came to replace them, tense silence continuing to reign between the two soldiers.

Keeler broke the spell, voice cold but without the underlying fury from earlier. “Ethos is one of my most talented, hard-working navigators. He could go far; end up on the officer track if he wanted. Seeing him languish near the bottom of the rankings... he deserves better.”

Praxis stared at his boots. He felt hot, embarrassing shame pricking along the back of his neck, unable to offer any defense. _He’s right_ , the fighter thought sadly. He ruminated on how horrible he’d been to his new Ethos, for no good reason. Distant and uncooperative when the eager young navigator clearly wanted to work together. _Why do I keep pushing him away?_

Keeler spoke again when no response was forthcoming, his tone softer. “You need to start training together. You haven’t logged enough hours in VR since he was assigned to the _Tiberius_ ,” he paused, though not for breath this time. Brow furrowed, it seemed he was deciding whether or not to say something, “And, unless I’m wrong, that’s as much to do with your missing eye as your mental state, yes?”

Praxis looked over at the concerned, open expression on the other man’s face, and felt a sense of dread seeping deep into his bones. Was that openness an act, too, or was Keeler genuinely reaching out to him? He opened his mouth to respond, but the words caught in his throat, so he snapped it shut again.

Keeler sighed, his shoulders slumping a little further. “I looked at the data from your flight time in the _Tiberius_ over the past month, and what few simulation training sessions were logged. You haven’t managed to fully compensate for the blind spot yet, have you?”

Praxis gave a stiff shake of his head, waiting for the other shoe to drop. If Keeler had been doing that much digging into his records, surely he meant to use it against him? Get him kicked out or reassigned, perhaps, to protect his own position?

“According to your medical records, the doctors think that with enough practice you should be able to perform at the approximately the same level as before. Which was perfectly respectable. Quite good, even,” continued the navigator quietly, reaching out and gently placing a hand on Praxis’ arm, “You’re not the first fighter to lose the use of an eye, you know. If you’re worried about terrible runs in the sims dropping your numbers even more... I could set the system to not log any data from your sessions for the next little while—you’d only have whatever records you download to external storage.”

Praxis could feel his remaining eye go wide as his brows rose in surprise, as much at the feeling of Keeler’s delicate fingers resting on his forearm as at the unexpectedly kind offer. A recklessly kind offer; messing with the automatic record keeping like that would come with a stiff reprimand, if not outright dishonourable discharge for the Lead Navigator, should it be discovered.

“You can’t–” he started to reply.

“I won’t have one of the most promising navigators serving under me die because his fighter is too proud or too scared to put in the work.” The resolute expression on the thin man’s face brooked no argument, but his voice was still sympathetic.

“Listen, I know from personal experience… it’s all about the numbers,” the hand on Praxis’ arm tightened involuntarily at that, then Keeler looked down at it and loosened his grip again. “If you don’t get yours up, I’ll have Ethos reassigned to a fighter who’s willing to work with him… You’ll never know if you’re compatible unless you give it a real try.” After a moment, he pulled his hand away, using it to brace against the wall as he hauled himself upright, one arm holding onto a shelf beside him, still shaking slightly.

“Stop fucking around and start training with Ethos,” Keeler said, the use of a swear surprising Praxis, “You can take that as an order. I’ll have it arranged by tomorrow morning. Let me know when you want your sim runs logged to count towards your team ranking again.” He let go of the shelf, steadier now, and walked slowly toward the door.

Praxis jumped to his feet, but stayed where he was, unsure what the proper response would be. He settled on, “Thank you, sir.”

Keeler turned his head back to look at the fighter, who saluted him. A wan smile crossed his pale face. “Don't ‘sir’ me. Our little chats like this are off the record, remember?” he said, a note of playfulness in his voice as he turned to leave.

 

***

 

The following morning, as the _Tiberius_ team dressed and got ready for the day, Praxis worked up the nerve to broach the mutual silence of their usual routine.

“Hey Ethos,” he started, almost thrown by the surprised look on his navigator’s face at the deviation from their usual interactions, “Umm, I was wondering… what’s your schedule like today? Have any spare hours in the afternoon?”

“Oh! After lunch I have a fair bit of time before lab hours,” Ethos replied, wide-eyed, “What’s up, Praxis?”

“Uh. I was just thinking… if you aren’t busy, maybe we could do some VR training? A few sim runs?”

A delighted smile spread across the face of the tousle-haired navigator. “Oh! Okay… yeah, that sounds like a great idea. Meet you in the mess hall?”

“Sure thing,” Praxis said, finding it difficult not to smile a little in return.

 

His determination and optimism from the morning could only carry them so far, though. The simulation training went much worse than Praxis had hoped, and he felt his good mood from earlier slipping.

 _I really am rusty. How did I let myself go like this and not realize it?_ he reprimanded himself mentally.

Ethos, somehow always seeing a silver lining, was undeterred. “Don’t worry, Praxis. Um, I’m sure we’ll do better next time,” he said, matter-of-factly, “We just need some more practice to figure out how to work in synch!”

Praxis vowed to keep putting in an effort, relieved that Ethos was taking their subpar performance in stride. _Maybe it_ is _just a matter of getting used to working with each other_ , he thought, allowing himself a sliver of hope.

 

They trained together each day that week, and managed a few decent runs by the end of it. Ethos had been smiling non-stop, to the point where it stood out beyond his usual cheerful demeanour. Praxis couldn’t help but think that Keeler had been right. Maybe their compatibility was there, he’d just been unable to see it while ignoring the younger man.

If he wanted to keep this Ethos alive, they had to train together, get used to each other’s approaches, and become a proper team. Praxis realized it wasn’t as though if he didn’t get to know Ethos as a person, it would be any easier to lose a second Navigator. To have that on his conscience. To know he couldn’t protect anyone. _It was awful of me to push him away, but maybe I can make up for that now_ , he thought, more determined than ever to give being Ethos’ fighter a real try.

Besides that, it was so gratifying to see the enthusiasm return to that round face looking back at him from the navigator’s chair in the simulator. The same eagerness and drive to excel that had been there when they’d first been paired up, when Praxis was too much of a mess to appreciate it. It was the reason they were out on this mission at all; Ethos volunteering, determined to do his part in the war against the Colterons and protect humanity.

Of course, it couldn’t last long, because what ever did for him? One day Ethos came to find Praxis after lunch and began whispering to him that something had gone wrong.

“The records of our sim runs from the past few days have disappeared!” the navigator said, obviously distressed, “Luckily I backed them up to my datapad, so at least we can go over the results and figure out where we can improve. Ah, but we should talk to Keeler about it as soon as possible. He’ll be in his office in the lab right now. Umm, I mean… if you’re free and don’t, uh, mind coming with me, that is.”

“Oh, sure,” Praxis replied flatly, trying not to let his reaction give things away.

The two of them walked down to the lab, Praxis feeling more and more anxious the closer they got, the more white uniforms they passed in the halls. He stood there, listening to Ethos complain, showing the Lead Navigator what he’d discovered in the computer records, or lack thereof. Keeler nodded and made understanding noises, a friendly smile on his face, never once glancing at Praxis.

“Don’t worry about it, okay Ethos? I’ll make sure the problem gets fixed—it won’t negatively impact your ranking,” Keeler said, his face calm and seemingly untroubled, even as Ethos persisted.

His navigator showed the datapad he was carrying to his superior. “I was sure to save all the outputs after our training sessions, though. Can we upload these backups to the system?”

Keeler took the handheld device without a word, connecting it to his workstation. Standing behind his shoulder, Ethos directed the Lead Navigator to the file path, then watched as he located the files and opened them up. Keeler scanned the results and promptly deleted all but the most recent ones.

Ethos' jaw dropped, an expression of disbelief on his face; eyes even wider and rounder than usual. “But... but, sir—”

Keeler just smiled that friendly, warm smile—which Praxis finally noticed, didn’t reach his eyes—and said: “I told you not to worry, Ethos. I’ll make sure everything is in order. The system will be fixed by tomorrow. Keep training then, and if it fails to log your results again, come see me. Understood?”

“Y– yes, sir.”

“Good. Dismissed.” Keeler turned his head back to the screen and continued working while the _Tiberius_ team exited the lab. A charged silence hung between them as they walked. Praxis watched Ethos from the corner of his good eye, as much as he could while still focusing on navigating the hallways. Emotions were warring on the shorter man’s face.

“Praxis, what should we do?” Ethos quietly asked after a while, obviously a little shaken, “I– I don’t understand why Keeler would do that…”

Praxis kept his gaze straight ahead, not trusting his ability to hide what he knew from his distraught navigator. “Ethos, I think we should trust the judgement of our officers, and follow orders.”

“Oh, okay. Um, I guess you’re right, Praxis. Keeler must have a good reason,” Ethos relented, seeming calmer already. “Luckily I’ve got secondary backups on my personal laptop. We can still go over our mistakes from the sims and figure out what to focus on next... uh, if you want to, that is.”

“All right, let’s do that,” Praxis replied, finally daring to glance down at his navigator, who was smiling again. Feeling relieved, he hoped this was the only time he’d have to lie by omission to his partner. It was necessary, but it didn’t sit well with him. He was really starting to like working with Ethos, and didn’t want to hide things from him.

 

That night, Praxis passed by the hallway leading to the navigational labs on his way back from an evening walk. He was surprised to catch Keeler leaving for the night so late. The slender man looked completely exhausted; large circles under his eyes, pale skin seeming almost sallow beneath the dim overhead lighting. He was obviously caught up in thought, not noticing Praxis’ approach as he entered the code to lock down the lab for the night.

“Shouldn’t you be in bed? Ethos said the navigators have an early morning meeting tomorrow.”

Keeler started a little, but recovered his composure swiftly and turned to face him, leaning heavily against the door. “I had to wait until everyone else left for the night before I could safely go in to reprogram the system and restore sim data recording for a certain team,” he replied flatly.

“Thank you for that, by the way,” Praxis began, but Keeler just waved it away without further comment. “I’m heading to the barracks levels, what about you?”

“Ugh, yes, I could sleep right here on my feet.”

They headed towards the elevator together, and, noticing how slowly Keeler was going, Praxis subtly offered the other man his arm. Without any hesitation or even a sidelong glance, the pale-haired man took it. He leaned heavily against Praxis, arms quivering where they had latched onto the fighter’s.

“If anyone passes us, just flirt with me,” the navigator said in a strained voice, but there was a touch of humour to it, at least. Much to Praxis’ relief, the corridors were devoid of other soldiers at such a late hour, this level mainly utilized during the day shift. _I’m bad enough at flirting when there isn’t any pressure to_ , he thought ruefully.

Keeler rested his head against Praxis’ shoulder in the privacy of the lift, sighing softly and stifling a yawn. The fighter tried not to react visibly to the sudden familiarity, though his mind raced. It was hard to ignore the soft, pale hair tickling his neck where a few rogue strands had escaped the other man’s customary loose braid. He smelled inexplicably good—like lemons and fresh linen—even after long hours working.

They parted at Keeler’s door, where the navigator silently mouthed “Good night” to Praxis, then slipped into the suite. Before the door could glide fully shut, Praxis heard the start of a conversation.

“Oh, Encke, you’re still up! How was your evening?” said in a sing-song cheery voice. So completely different from the tired, run-down man he’d nodded good night to just moments earlier.

 

***

 

Keeler’s suggestion—or rather, his order—worked. _Tiberius_ began to climb in the rankings; those first few runs that weren’t erased bumping them up from the bottom five teams in the span of a week. As they continued to train, hitting the middle of the pack without much trouble. Praxis felt hopeful for the first time in… he couldn’t even remember. The boost from seeing tangible results drove him to work even harder, to make up for all that lost time.

Ethos analysed their results regularly, summarising his findings so the two of them could focus on areas where they needed improvement. The systematic approach was quite effective at first, and they saw big gains in all their measures of performance. After a few weeks, though, Praxis noticed his navigator’s furrowed brow while staring at the data from their latest sim runs. When asked what was up, Ethos smiled and put away his work, changing the topic. Praxis figured he wouldn’t push; didn’t want to screw up the rapport they’d been building by being too nosy.

 

Ethos brought up the topic himself one afternoon, almost hesitantly.

“Umm, Praxis, can we talk? I’ve, ah, noticed a pattern across all of the Attack Runs we’ve done over the past few weeks, and wanted to go over an idea with you,” said Ethos, continuing at a nod from his fighter, “Well, uh, it looks like targets approaching from our port side are still not getting taken down as effectively as those approaching from starboard, or parallel to our ship’s orientation.”

“Oh.”

“I mean, there was definite improvement in the numbers if you look at where we started a few weeks ago!” Ethos said quickly, obviously trying to put a good face on things. “It’s just that the past few sessions, um, the gains have plateaued, with a significant difference remaining in percentage of targets destroyed.”

Praxis sighed wearily, scrubbing a hand back through his hair, “I’m really sorry, Ethos. I thought I’d be able to correct for my blind spot with time and practice. Maybe the doctors were wrong to expect that I’d be able to perform at the same level as before…”

“Oh, no, no! Don't apologize!” The navigator looked dismayed, shaking his head from side to side, causing his unruly not-quite-curls to bounce. “I, uh, just wanted to ask if a different flight strategy would be something you’d be open to trying. I generated some models based on our sim data, and came up with a new configuration for us to train on. Umm, if that’s okay with you?”

Praxis looked at the open, honest expression Ethos wore and felt genuinely touched by how accommodating his navigator was.

“What have we got to lose?” the fighter said, shrugging, “Tell me about it.”

Ethos excitedly explained how the new strategy would compensate by using a narrower window for targeting, but more frequent changes in direction, and more passes on an angle rather than head-on attacks when going after common Colteron flight formations.

Praxis listened, a little sadly, realizing how hard Ethos had worked to make up for the shortcomings of the fighter he’d been saddled with. He’d even come up with tweaks they could use while flying in close formation with other Starfighters. It was unbelievable.

“Sounds like it’s worth a shot, Ethos,” he said after the younger man had finished his extensive explanation, “I’m just sorry to make you change your approach in order to offset my inability to make up for my faults…”

“Oh, no! It’s not– oh, please don’t feel bad, Praxis!” the navigator begged, pale brows drawn together in concern. “I would be changing my approach once I figured out how _any_ fighter I got paired with worked best. Optimization of flight strategy is my job! Every fighter has, well, their own unique strengths and weak points in a Starfighter. A good navigator learns to pilot the ship to make the most of their fighter’s skills. It’s, uh, always about figuring out how best to work as a team, because neither of us is perfect, and neither of us can do it alone,” he finished, wringing his hands a little and looking up apprehensively at the taller man.

Praxis managed to conjure a smile even if he didn’t quite feel it, “Thank you, Ethos. I’m really lucky to have been assigned you as my navigator. Working together the past little while has been really great… I’m sorry it took me so long to get with the program.”

Ethos blushed a little. “I like working with you, too. And I’m glad that maybe we can be friends?” He said, almost like a question.

“Yeah. I’d like to be friends, too.”

Praxis felt his smile become genuine as Ethos' face lit up like it was Christmas day.

 

***

 

A knock at the door startled Praxis as he read, his head jerking up to face the sudden interruption and bouncing against the wall behind him. He bit back a curse and rubbed at the sore spot, hoping whoever was on the other side of the door hadn’t heard his skull hitting the hard surface. _Ethos would call in to see if I was here, then just open the door,_ he thought, slightly confused because he had no idea who would come visiting at this time in the evening.

Padding over in his sock feet, Praxis hit the panel to open the door. Keeler nearly fell through it face first; he had clearly been leaning up against it while knocking. Luckily, Praxis’ fighter reflexes kick in, catching the smaller man and helping him over to the bed.

“Sorry to intrude... Encke was in our room... couldn’t go much further,” Keeler managed between laboured breaths, head turned to the side, gaze on the ground at the Praxis’ feet. 

“Hey, don’t worry about it,” Praxis grabbed a glass to fetch some water. “Here, whenever you want it,” he said, kneeling beside the bed and placing the glass on the ground next to it. Leaning back against the bunk, Praxis quietly resumed reading his book, unable to really focus as he waited for Keeler to recover.

Once the navigator on the bed was well enough, he rolled onto his side, propping himself up to reach for the water. Praxis lifted it as he rose from his seated position, perching on the edge of the bed instead, and holding it out to Keeler so he wouldn’t need to exert himself more than necessary. After watching him drain half the glass, Praxis took it again and Keeler lay back down, though now much more aware, strength returning. In the continued silence, Praxis dared to ask a question he never got the answer to, the last time he asked.

“Does Encke know?”

This time, Keeler looked at him for a few moments—his probing gaze making Praxis want to squirm like a live specimen being dissected—then answered. “Yes. He does. I couldn’t exactly hide it from him, living in the same room. He’s known since shortly after we were assigned together.” The response was surprisingly emotionless; a statement of fact.

Praxis was even more confused after getting an answer than he had been before. “I don’t understand... Why do you avoid him, then? Why not let him help you?” He asked, feeling like he was stepping over a boundary with a big ‘NO CROSSING’ sign.

Keeler looked displeased, voice petulant when he replied, “Because he worries too much. The less he sees, the better. He treats me like I’m made of porcelain as it is.” Struggling just a little to sit up and lean against the wall, he fixed Praxis with a glare that forbade any assistance.

Sitting there, feeling a little helpless and a little silly for wanting to help where it obviously wasn’t welcome, Praxis spoke, though it went against his better judgement. “This is probably a stupid question, so, uh, feel free to ignore it… but why do you overexert yourself so much, if you’re worried about being, um… found out?”

Keeler just sighed. “You’re right, it is a stupid question. But I don’t expect a fighter to understand the demands of my position,” a kind smile softened the harshness of his words. “Praxis, if I didn’t work this hard, I’d lose my place as Lead Navigator. It’s demanding, and the Alliance doesn’t exactly make accommodations. They can’t afford to… not in the middle of a war,” he said, voice wavering a little. Praxis waited quietly, sensing that Keeler hadn’t finished his explanation yet. “I just– I’d rather collapse every once in a while than go back to the isolation I lived in before; the loneliness of my sick bed… I’d rather die than go back to that.” His voice cracked, breathing getting ragged again.

Not knowing how else to respond, Praxis held up the glass of water, letting the other man take it with shaking hands. They sat in silence for a while, Praxis unsure whether there was anything else he could say or do. Keeler’s breathing was just getting back to nearly normal again when they heard the sound of a code being entered into the panel outside the room. Before Praxis could even react, he found himself with an armful of the slender navigator; soft pale lips on his, a halo of white-blond hair half obscuring his view of the doorway.

The open doorway, where Ethos was turning bright red, then quickly stepping back outside, saying, “Oh! Sorry, sorry! I– I’ll come back later!”

The door slid closed again but Keeler remained where he was, lips softly moving against Praxis’ closed mouth for a brief moment. Embarrassment and surprise held the fighter frozen in place, even as he wanted to go after Ethos and apologize, but simultaneously wanted to stay and kiss Keeler back. The navigator stopped kissing him, but didn’t lean back, breathing into the space between their faces, “Whew, that was a close one. It’s a good thing he didn’t come in even ten minutes ago... That would have been hard to explain.”

“Harder to explain than the Lead Navigator kissing his Fighter?” Praxis half-joked, uncertain whether to try and put space between them again.

Keeler made the decision for him, thankfully, bringing their lips together again and kissing him more slowly this time. With more warning—and no unexpected audience—Praxis kissed back, letting his arms wander up along the other man’s. Of course, then his brain decided to ruin the moment by sounding the alarm.

“What about Encke?” Praxis blurted out, pulling back.

Keeler scoffed and said, "What about him? We’re not together, not like that.”

“You aren’t? But he likes you, doesn’t he?”

Keeler shrugged sadly, “I couldn’t be with him... He doesn’t get it. But you do,” he said, looking into Praxis’ good eye as if he could stare into his soul.

“Get what?”

“All of it! How we have to work twice as hard just to make up for our weaknesses. How exhausting it is to do that, and hide it. You’re the only one who has seen me… like this,” he gestured loosely down at himself and the bed, “And not constantly tried to baby me afterwards. Who hasn’t condescended to me! Who has respected my ability to make my own choices.” The navigator leaned in to kiss him again, more forcefully this time, hands grabbing onto his shoulders with surprising strength.

Giving in to his desire, and reassured that the Lead Fighter _probably_ wouldn’t kill him in a dark corner of the ship, Praxis wrapped his arms around Keeler and kissed back, deepening it. They stayed like that for a long while, lips and tongues working against each other, hands gently roaming each other’s bodies. Before it could get so hot and heavy that things went too far, Praxis reluctantly disentangled himself, getting a disappointed whine from Keeler.

“I _also_ get that this probably isn’t the best idea when you’ve only just gotten your energy back,” he said, holding up a finger and steamrolling over Keeler’s attempt to interject, “Maybe when you can knock on the door without falling through it...”

The navigator frowned up at him, then sighed, resigned. “I suppose I still have an evening session to get through at the lab. It wouldn’t do for me to be late.”

“Take it easy, okay?” Praxis dared to squeeze the pale hand in his as Keeler stood, no longer shaky.

“Fiiiiine,” Keeler said, rolling his eyes. He followed it up with a smile, though.

Praxis noted that this one did reach his eyes, and smiled back, rising to get the door. He snuck one last soft kiss before hitting the panel controls. “Have a good night, Keeler.”

“Night, Praxis.”

 

***

 

Sirens blared, cutting breakfast short the following morning. Over the PA system, all available Starfighter crews were being ordered to scramble for immediate launch and defensive action. Getting up from their table, Praxis and Ethos ran straight down to the hangar, and were surprised to find they were the first team to arrive. Luckily they’d been planning to hit the simulators after eating, and were already in their flight suits. Praxis supposed everyone else was still rushing to find theirs and suit up. A member of the hangar crew jogged with them over to the _Tiberius_ , filling them in on the latest information from Central Command.

“A few Colteron scout ships showed up on the long-range sensors, and the _Sleipnir_ will be within their detection range in less than 10 minutes,” he said, helping prep the Starfighter by releasing the manual brakes as he spoke. “It doesn’t look like a planned attack, just our bad luck.”

“I wonder if they’ve sent out scouting parties to find out what happened to that patrol we destroyed?” Praxis thought out loud as he climbed the ladder on the side of the ship and opened the hatch to his half of the cockpit.

“Oh! If they were supposed to report back to the hive, that would make sense, wouldn’t it?” said Ethos, already in his chair and going through pre-launch checks at a breakneck pace.

 _Tiberius_ was already set to launch by the time other Fighter-Navigator pairs began arriving, with the team of the _Equinox_ at the fore, to Praxis’ surprise. Helmets on and cockpit sealed, Central Command gave their instructions: “ _Tiberius_ , you’re our first line of defense. Comm disruption is top priority. Then distract them, see if you can break their flight pattern. Backup is right behind you.”

“Yes sir!” Ethos answered, then, on their internal channel, “You ready, Praxis?”

“Affirmative. Take us out!”

 _LAUNCH SEQUENCE ENGAGED_ , the ship confirmed as Ethos activated it. _LAUNCH IN THREE, TWO_ —

Praxis found a calm state of being with the heady feeling of liftoff, the sudden forces of acceleration as their Starfighter zoomed out into the inky void ahead of them, closing quickly on the approaching ships. It was always a bit jarring for the first few seconds—how different it felt performing the same actions in a real ship compared to a simulation—but Praxis acclimated almost immediately, training taking over. Adrenaline surging, trigger fingers itching, he felt more ready for a fight right now than he had in a long time.

The voice of Command crackled over their comms: “CC to _Tiberius_. Keep this channel open and activate your communications disruptors immediately, set to standard Colteron frequency range.”

“Roger that, Command,” replied Ethos before addressing Praxis, always so assertive once he was in the navigator’s seat. “Hang on to your breakfast, I’m gonna swoop around for a 45 degree pass on our starboard side!”

Praxis felt as much as saw the ship’s change in direction, watching the target icons shift on his console display. Getting oriented in the endless black expanse of space was an art form that required practice and concentration, but with both, became almost second nature.

“Three closest targets should be in your sweet spot, Praxis.”

“I see ‘em!”

The targets appeared just where Ethos said they would be, and Praxis opened fire. Direct hit to one, dealing significant damage, and a glancing shot tore along the angled wing of another, causing it to wobble. The third evaded, but none of the shots fired back managed to land with Ethos whirling the _Tiberius_ around for a second pass.

Living completely in the moment, nothing filled Praxis’ mind save the red targets on his display and the voice of his navigator in his ear. It was everything and nothing like simulations; out here they worked together seamlessly just like in the VR rigs, but in a zone of focus so removed from the everyday training exercises.

“Coming around again, targets on starboard side!”

“I’m on it!”

Three passes without being hit by any more than a graze that mostly deflected off their shields. The Colterons were faring significantly worse—two ships completely obliterated, three others with non-trivial damage—and Command confirmed that backup had launched.  

Which was, of course, when their luck ran out. Ethos spiraled the _Tiberius_ around again, but the enemy had broken formation, and one ‘Teron ship unexpectedly appeared on their bad side.

“Praxis!”

‘DANGER’ flashed the warning next to the red target on the weapons station display.

“I see it!”  The fighter adjusted his sights and fired, landing a hit but not getting to celebrate, as an explosion rocked their own spacecraft.

“ _Tiberius_ , report!” Command ordered.

“We’ve been hit! Engine critically damaged! Rerouting power to the thrusters.” Ethos responded over the comms.

They were answered almost immediately by the voice of Phobos: “We’ve got your back, _Tiberius_ , peel off and give us a shot!”

“ _Tiberius_ , return to base. The others will can handle clean up. Good work.”

With the ship’s alarms ringing in their ears, Ethos spun them around as another volley of shots from the Colterons soared past.

 _BOOM_ —

Another hit, this one to the wing. The _Tiberius_ was vibrating worryingly; palpably different from the usual rattle it made when undertaking rough maneuvers. It felt bone-chillingly familiar. Like the flight that had ended in blood and death and loss. Praxis struggled to hold onto his calm, willing himself to keep his remaining eye open and alert. To have this time go differently.

“We’re okay, Praxis,” Ethos’ reassuring voice came over their internal channel. “We’ll be out of range in 5, 4, 3–”

“ _Shit!_ ”

One of the ‘Terons had gotten around the chaos of the battle as the other Starfighters carved up the remaining targets. It was cutting off their retreat, guns blazing. Praxis adjusted his shot trajectories for the evasive spins and sharp changes of direction Ethos was expertly executing. Two hits to the enemy ship, taking out one of its guns and part of a wing.

A sickening jolt as one of its shots landed squarely on the fuselage of the _Tiberius_. More warning lights began flashing, structural integrity alarms joining the ones for the engine. Ethos pulled up hard, looping them around, the Colteron ship in pursuit.

“We can’t return to the ship with them on our tail!” he shouted over the clamour of beeps and warnings.

“Attack maneuver delta!” bellowed Praxis.

Ethos wasted no time feinting away from the enemy ship then spiraling back and up, opening a clear shot for Praxis.

Exhale.

Fire.

Admire the destruction, passing through debris from their destroyed opponent, close enough that much of it glanced off their hull, adding to the tortured shaking of their already damaged ship.

Inhale.

The comms were crackling, whoops of victory coming from the other Alliance ships out there with them. The battle was almost over, but their own fate not yet certain; alarms still making a constant din, drowning out everything else.

“Hangar, we’re coming in hot!” Ethos yelled, his voice wavering at the edges a little.

They couldn’t decelerate enough, unable to cut the burst thrusters and turn on the braking ones until the last minute if they wanted to make it back in one piece. Praxis clenched his jaw in anticipation of a hard landing. And it _was_ hard. It felt as if his bones were being rattled out of place, his head slamming back repeatedly into the seat. The straps holding him in his seat cut into his shoulders as they crashed down in the artificial gravity, sliding to a halt along the hangar floor.

The forces alone left him lightheaded as he tried to free himself from the cockpit, hands feeling numb and disconnected from his body as he fumbled with the release. Smoke immediately poured in, choking him. Their blown engine was ablaze now, thanks to the oxygen-rich atmosphere of the hangar. He saw the fire crew running over to try and bring the flames under control, but brought his focus back to the cockpit, driven by a feeling he couldn’t name.

“Ethos? Ethos!”

The younger man wasn’t responding. Praxis scrambled over to crouch in front of his unconscious navigator, struggling to undo his restraints. He hauled Ethos up and hefted him over his shoulder, making his way to the ladder as quickly as he could manage without losing his footing, balance thrown off by the dead weight…

 _Dead weight_. The phrase set off something in Praxis’ mind.

 _No! Not again! Not Ethos!_ His mind echoed the pattern of the alarms from their ship, now creating a reverberating cacophony in the hangar.  

“MEDIC!”

Praxis could hear his own voice as if underwater, warbling and unclear through the rush of blood in his ears. He struggled to breathe through the thick smoke now belching from the _Tiberius_ as the fire crew put it out.

Emergency responders came running with a stretcher, and he deposited Ethos onto it as gently as he could manage, following them in the rush to med bay.

 _Please be okay, please be okay…_ he thought, the words running in a loop through his mind.

Once in medical, Praxis found himself forcibly separated from the stretcher by a team of nurses.

“He’s going to be fine, no serious injuries,” said one of the EMTs who’d pushed the stretcher, putting a hand on his shoulder. “But you’ve got to let the doctors at him for a full examination. Make sure there’s no internal bleeding or anything.”

After a quick triage assessment, a bit of bandaging, and some ice to minimize the worst of the bruising, Praxis got shown the door in favour of those with serious injuries to treat. A few more stretchers had been wheeled in—apparently the _Tiberius_ wasn’t the only ship hit—accompanied by a navigator or fighter. Everything was moving too fast, but he managed to gather that there were no casualties. All the Starfighters made it back aboard. Relief pried at the edges of his racing thoughts, but didn’t quite manage to settle them.

Standing in the corridor, Praxis was at a loss, adrenaline still coursing through his veins, but feeling helpless. The fight was over, but with nothing for him to focus on, he couldn’t seem to figure out what he should be doing. He was frozen in place, wanting to move, to do something, _anything_.

“Oh thank Mother!”

Praxis turned his head to see a slender white figure rushing toward him from further up the hall, braid bouncing on the man’s shoulder. Keeler placed one delicate hand on the small of his back, directing him to walk. Amazingly enough, his feet seemed to know what to do, even if the only thing his brain could focus on was the searing heat of that contact. Praxis shivered against the navigator’s hand as he was led into a small, darkened meeting room down the adjacent corridor.

“Is Ethos all right?” Keeler asked as he shut the door behind them.

“Umm, I guess so… they were still checking for internal injuries when I got kicked out… but otherwise he wasn’t badly hurt. Just knocked out by the force of our landing,” Praxis replied, moving to stand at the head of the conference table.

“Good. That’s good news.” Keeler said, nodding and walking toward him, relief clearly written across his features. “I was so worried.”

Without hesitation, the navigator ran his hands up Praxis’ sides and lifted onto his toes to bring their mouths together in a forceful kiss.

 _Oh!_ was the only thought the fighter could muster.

Surprised, Praxis stumbled backwards a step, right into the wall. Keeler recovered deftly, using the forward momentum to bring his body up against the other man’s. This time, Praxis’ arms wrapped around Keeler almost of their own accord. After half a second, his brain caught up and he kissed back, hungrily.

All nerves and desperation, the two didn’t hold back; hands roaming everywhere they could reach, tongues sliding sloppily against each other, hips grinding. The hot line of Keeler’s body up against his was almost unbearable, but paradoxically, Praxis felt like he couldn’t get close _enough_ to the slender form held tight in his arms. He pulled the elastic from platinum hair, running his hand up through Keeler’s braid. Silky locks of white gold slipped between his fingers, coming loose as he cupped the back of the smaller man’s head, crushing their mouths together.

All that wet heat and those whimpering noises had his cock excruciatingly hard, trapped in the confines of his flight suit. Keeler was practically gyrating up against him, arms thrown around his shoulders, fingers dragging through the short hairs at the back of his neck. Their erections rocked together as they breathed heavily into each other’s mouths.

The heady mix of adrenaline and arousal had Praxis practically coming undone already. He let out what could only be described as a growl, fingers gripping Keeler’s ass cheeks and easily hoisting the slender man off the ground. That got a gasp and a long, moaning sigh from the navigator as his legs twined around Praxis’ waist. It was only a few steps to the conference table, where Praxis deposited Keeler and began undoing his fly immediately. Wasting no time, Keeler followed his example, rucking up the top of the black flight suit and quickly getting the zip down. The height of the table was slightly awkward considering Praxis’ height, but he couldn’t be bothered, simply bringing one knee up to rest beside the other man’s hip and leaning forward over him. Wrapping his arms around Keeler, the navigator followed suit, clinging to Praxis and leaning back so his hips slid forward to meet their counterparts.

“Fffffff– God, Keeler!” Praxis exclaimed, overwhelmed by the feeling of their naked cocks sliding up against each other, slick with precome already.

The blonde man let out a little laugh, and it was the hottest thing Praxis could think of in that moment, burying his face in pale hair and mouthing along the edge of a delicate ear.

“Mmmmmm, yeah…” Keeler moaned, tipping his head to expose more of that long, pale neck, which Praxis greedily kissed. “Here, let me—”

One slender arm left its place on the fighter’s waist as Keeler brought his hand up to his mouth, dragging his tongue across the palm in a filthy display that almost had Praxis coming without being touched. Then Keeler worked it down between their bodies, grasping both their erections in long, clever fingers.

“Ohhhh, yessssss,” hissed Praxis as Keeler’s hand worked up and down their shafts, twisting near the top before pumping down again.

What in reality was probably only a few minutes—if that—seemed to stretch on for ages, all heat and friction. Praxis thrust into Keeler’s hand, their erections sliding against each other as they kissed deeply.

“Nnnn, I– I’m gonna—” said Praxis, voice cracking.

“Yes! Do it!” Keeler responded enthusiastically, speeding his motions even more.

Praxis groaned and spilled all over the slender hand and twitching cock of the navigator, hips snapping erratically then stilling as he tried to catch his breath, shaking arms struggling to hold them both upright. He dropped one to the table for support as Keeler gave a high-pitch whine, his own release coming just a few seconds later. Praxis kissed gently along the navigator’s jaw line as he shuddered through the aftershocks, then slid off the table, pulling the Keeler back up to a seated position. He leaned heavily against the sturdy piece of furniture, letting the fingers of one hand play through glossy blonde hair, contended and much calmer than before.

Once Keeler’s breathing had slowed and the glazed, lust-addled look had faded from clear blue eyes a bit, he examined the mess in his lap. In a display of excellent preparedness, he retrieved a handkerchief from his jacket pocket and reached out to clean Praxis up a bit before tending to himself.

 _And_ that’s _why he’s Lead Navigator_ , thought Praxis, mind still a little silly, perhaps waiting for some more blood to travel back to it, as he re-did the zipper on his flight suit. “That was… really nice.”

Keeler smiled softly up at him. “Yeah. It was.” He fastened his pants again, miraculously having managed not to get come all over them, and shuffled his butt off the table. He leaned in to place a gentle kiss right on the fighter’s lips. “I’d better get back to my duties…”

“Oh, yeah, they’re probably wondering where you are,” said Praxis, suddenly feeling sheepish. “I should check back in with medical to find out how Ethos is doing.”

Keeler nodded and walked toward the panel to open the door. “I’ll come find you later?”

All Praxis could manage was a big grin as he watched the navigator exit. It was still plastered to his face as he left the room a few minutes later, to avoid arousing suspicion from anyone who might be wandering the corridors.

 

***

 

That night, Praxis was ready to go to sleep far earlier than usual, completely drained by the events of the day. Having checked in with med bay again to find Ethos awake and in good spirits, he was relieved to hear that nothing was seriously wrong. But the CMO still wanted him kept overnight for observation, just in case they’d missed something. The concussion he’d sustained in the hard landing was reason enough to keep him for a few more scans in the morning. Knowing his navigator was okay gave Praxis a deep sense of calm. _It’s not like last time._

Now, Praxis was having trouble keeping his eyes open—staring at his tablet and realising he hadn’t absorbed any of the previous paragraph from his novel—when a knock came at the door. It was Keeler, and though he didn’t fall through the doorway this time, he _was_ swaying slightly, obviously exhausted. Praxis ushered him in, getting an arm around his shoulders as soon as the door closed. Keeler leaned heavily into him, sighing softly and letting his head fall back against the fighter’s broad shoulders.

“Hi,” said Keeler quietly, the single syllable sleepy and unfocused.

“Hi, you,” Praxis responded, laying him down on the bed.

Keeler made no motion to do anything, eyelids at half-mast, watching Praxis lazily. The taller man sat on the edge of the bed, trying to decide what he should do.

“Umm, here, would you like me to–?” He slowly undid the navigator’s jacket, slipping it off thin shoulders as Keeler nodded. Helping him undress down to his underclothes, Praxis tried not to pay inappropriate attention to the pale, willowy body now occupying his bed. Slipping the blankets up over Keeler’s slight frame, he stood and folded the officer’s clothes, setting them on top of the drawers.

“Hey,” Praxis said, unsure if his guest was still awake. Keeler’s eyes opened again, gazing up at him. “I can take the top bunk, if you’re good there.”

“If I wanted to sleep alone, I would have gone back to my quarters,” Keeler smirked, holding his arms out toward the other man, “Stay with me?”

Praxis nodded, sliding carefully in next to the smaller man, who wriggled closer to the wall. Once he was settled, Keeler draped his arm across Praxis’ chest, fingers playing idly with the edging of the armhole of the fighter’s grey sleep tank. The blond-haired man tilted his face up to place a kiss at the corner of Praxis’ mouth. Praxis turned his head, allowing their lips to meet properly. They traded a few languid kisses, arms finding more comfortable places to wrap around each other. Cuddled together, they drifted for a while, fingers trailing lightly along each other’s bare arms.

“Aren’t you going to take this off to sleep?” Keeler slurred drowsily, hand tangling in Praxis’ hair, pulling slightly at the string of his eye patch.

Praxis felt his face heat. “Oh… umm, usually I do, but…”

“Don’t change your routine on account of me,” the navigator reassured him.

“Uhh… you don’t mind?” Praxis asked, still unsure and a little hesitant.

“No, of course not,” said Keeler, giving him a gentle squeeze.

Praxis let out a breath slowly, debating, then reached up to remove the patch, placing it aside. He lowered his arm to rest parallel to his side, a little tense. After a few seconds, he worked up the nerve to meet Keeler’s eyes with his good one. The pale-haired man had a small, secretive smile curling the corners of his lips.

“Good night, Praxis,” he said, nuzzling his face into the crook of the larger man’s neck and shoulder.

“…Good night, Keeler,” Praxis whispered, burying his face in soft white hair and sighing contentedly, already letting sleep claim him.

 

Praxis awoke to the feeling of Keeler’s long fingers tracing his arm, lightly running along the lines of individual muscles. He stirred, humming happily at the gentle touches. Turning his head to face the other man and opening his good eye revealed a slightly bed-headed blond smiling at him mischievously.

“Ah, I slept so well! You keep the bed nice and toasty,” Keeler said, and Praxis thought that he did look quite refreshed. “So much better than the chill that always seems to pervade the rest of the ship.” The navigator pressed his body along Praxis’ side, fingers now working their way along his jawline, bringing their mouths together.

Gentle kisses to start, Praxis marvelled at the feeling of Keeler’s soft lips against his. As he woke up a little more, he moved a hand to tangle in the spill of long hair across the pillow. Rolling onto his side, he deepened the kiss and threw a leg over the other man’s slender hips.

“Mmmmm, I don’t suppose you’d like to put this to good use?” Keeler purred, reaching between them to stroke Praxis’ morning wood, eliciting a gasp as the fighter moved against the touch.

“Ah, sure, that sounds– ahh!” Praxis replied, thought cut short by a firm squeeze from the hand now encircling his cock.

Keeler smirked and kissed him again. For long moments, they just lay there, pressed up against each other, making out slowly, like they had all the time in the world. Gently rolling their hips against each other, hands exploring in a way they hadn’t had a chance to in the adrenaline-fueled rush of hooking up post-battle in a semi-public space. Praxis let one hand lift the hem of the white undershirt Keeler wore, fingers stroking up the shallow indentations of his ribs, and around to one sharp shoulder blade.

Following his example, the navigator pressed a firm trail up Praxis’ abs—which jumped under the touch—and chest, fingers then migrating over a few inches to circle a nipple. Slowly, both their tops came off, and they pressed close together again, skin to skin. Breathing a bit heavier, passionate touches getting less tentative. Heat built between them but remained simmering; completely unlike the roiling boil-over from the previous day. Lazy, sleepy, sensual motions not needing to be hard or fast to feel intense.

“Hey,” Keeler said, struggling to drag his lips away, getting words out in between kisses, “Do you… have any lube?”

“Oh, umm, yeah, I should,” Praxis leapt out of the bed, all eagerness, wanting to return to Keeler’s arms as soon as possible. He rummaged through the drawers until he found a small bottle, and went back to the bed.

Crawling towards Keeler until he could settle over him, Praxis leaned his weight onto his left elbow, hip, and thigh, not wanting to crush the smaller man. They resumed kissing, and Praxis slid his right hand down the pale, supple body next to his, sneaking fingers below the elastic of Keeler’s underwear. Palm running over the slight curve of one firm buttock, Praxis dared to squeeze lightly, pulling their hips flush.

“Ahhhhnnnn,” was the response, moaned breathily into the space between their mouths as Keeler bucked up against him.

“Mmmmm, how do you want to do this?” asked Praxis, wanting to be accommodating.

“I’d like to ride you,” said Keeler with a wicked grin, capturing the fighter’s mouth and rolling his slender body up against the flat expanse of Praxis’ muscled one.

Huffing out a surprised breath, Praxis started kissing softly down the navigator’s neck and along his collar bones before responding, “Okay, in a few minutes,” then continuing down his body. Reaching Keeler’s hipbones, he nibbled gently at one while hooking his thumbs into the waistband of white military issue briefs.

Slowly peeling them down, he freed Keeler’s erection and breathed along it, teasing him and getting a stifled gasp in response. Admiring how the slender, rosy cock he’d revealed contrasted with the man’s pale skin, he touched the tip of his tongue to the slit, tasting salt and musk. _Oh yes_ , he thought, taking his time mouthing along the shaft and licking a stripe back up it as Keeler moaned and shivered with the strain of not thrusting his hips up. Continuing his gentle ministrations got a whine from the navigator.

“Nnnnn… Praxis, just– haaa– suck me already!” Keeler said, growing impatient, too turned on for such delicate stimulation. Wanting more.

The fighter obliged, taking the head of Keeler’s cock in his mouth and sucking in his cheeks as he slid down the man’s full length, humming when his lips got to the bottom.

“Ahhhh! So… so good,” moaned the pale-haired man as Praxis began moving his head up and down slowly. Building up a rhythm, the fighter ran his large hands up and down Keeler’s sides, circling his nipples and groping his ass in turn. Grabbing the base of Keeler’s erection with one hand, he laved his tongue around the head and lapped at the sensitive point just underneath it. Taking the full length in his mouth again, Praxis was interrupted after just a few bobs of his head by a hand pulling at his hair.

“Fffff– oh, you’d better stop there,” Keeler said breathlessly, leaning his head up to look down the length of his body at the fighter, “…don’t wanna come just yet.” His hands reached out to paw at Praxis’ shoulders, trying to pull the larger man up toward him.

Pulling off with a slick popping sound—which got a groan from the navigator—Praxis captured the thin, fluttering fingers with his own sturdy ones, squeezing as he continued moving downwards, instead. He nuzzled at the inside of Keeler’s pale thigh, kissing along the sensitive line where leg met body, prompting some giggles and squirming. Taking one ball in his mouth first, then kissing the throbbing base of Keeler’s cock before mouthing at the other one, Praxis made his way further down.

“Ahhh, mmmm, yessssss!” the navigator was making all kinds of encouraging noises as his hips jerked in response to the varied stimulation.

Breaking their hand hold, Praxis brought his palms beneath Keeler’s hips to cant them up and give him better access. Swiping his tongue up and down the other man’s perineum, he worked towards his entrance.

“Hhhhnnnn… oh please!”

Tracing circles with his tongue, Praxis started to lap at that lovely little pucker, feeling his cock twitch in anticipation. Grinding down into the mattress, humming his pleasure against Keeler’s entrance, he listened to the desperate noises floating down from further up the bed.

“May I?” he enquired, raising his head to look at the face of the man writhing under his touch.

“God yes! Unnnhhhhh...”

Not needing further encouragement, Praxis dipped his head back down, and stiffening his tongue, applied more pressure. The tip slid in, and he wiggled it a bit, sinking further, lips able to mouth at the stretching skin. Keeler was making little whines now, and reached one delicate hand down to touch himself just a little.

 _So fucking hot_ , thought Praxis, starting to eat him out even more passionately. The feeling of Keeler opening for him was intoxicating. He was able to shove his tongue fully inside now, thrusting it in and out.

“Hnnn– P-Praxis, ahh– get up here... ah!”

Praxis pulled away and slid up beside Keeler, who immediately pulled him close and kissed him, shoving his tongue into the fighter’s mouth.

 _Unnngh, he’s so wonderfully filthy,_ thought Praxis, getting even more turned on by the unexpected forwardness of the Lead Navigator.

The feeling of their hips meeting and his still-clothed erection sliding against Keeler’s naked, dripping one was maddening. He groaned appreciatively as the navigator pulled his underwear off as quick as he could manage while still trying to continue kissing.

“Here, lie down,” Keeler ordered, snatching up the forgotten bottle of lube from where it had landed in the messy sheets. Praxis obliged, settling on his back, propped up on his elbows, watching as the slender man kissed down the length of his body. Keeler popped the lid on the bottle and poured some lube onto his long fingers, reaching behind himself while he pinned Praxis with his gaze. The fighter watched as Keeler fingered himself, mouth slightly open, then biting his lower lip and moaning, heat in his eyes the whole time. Praxis’ dick twitched again, and he dug his fingers into the mattress, breathing hard just watching the show being put on for him.

Once he’d added some more lube and started fucking himself on his fingers, Keeler bent lower to take Praxis in his mouth. The fighter’s neglected arousal flared up, and he stopped breathing entirely for one incredible moment; the wet heat, ticklish fall of soft white hair, and lewd noises became his entire focus.

“Unnnnnngghhhhh… wow, hah, mmmmm…” he exclaimed nonsensically as Keeler worked up and down his length, humming and gasping as he continued to warm himself up. It quickly became overwhelming, and Praxis reached out to pet at long, soft, hair, pushing it out of the navigator’s face.

“Ahhh, I’m not going to last if you keep going like that,” he said, voice gravelly with how wrecked he was already.

Keeler smiled smugly and sat back, tossing his head, making the wave of white blond hair sway as it came to rest. “Hmmm, lucky for you I think I’m ready,” he said coquettishly, straddling Praxis’ thighs and pouring some more lube into his hand. He grasped the fighter’s cock, giving it a few firm pumps, spreading the slick up and down the whole length. Praxis groaned and dropped a hand to the navigator’s knee, squeezing and caressing his leg. Keeler let go, a teasing look in his eyes.

“Do you want me?” he asked, shuffling slowly up the bed until his thighs bracketed the larger man’s abdomen. He lowered his ass to just graze along the hard length beneath him, eliciting another groan from the fighter.

“ _So_ much,” Praxis said emphatically, waiting patiently despite the powerful urge to buck his hips up and get more friction.

“Mmmm, good,” Keeler lifted up and reached behind himself to pull Praxis’ erection into position. He lined the head up with his entrance and slowly, slowly began to sink down.

The sensation of pushing through that first ring of tight muscle into Keeler’s heat and pressure had Praxis’ eye rolling back in its socket as he exhaled harshly. The navigator had his eyes half-lidded, tongue flicking out to lick his lips as he took Praxis’ substantial length inch by inch. When he was fully seated, he dropped his head, curtain of hair obscuring his face as he breathed a bit raggedly, hands braced on the fighter’s chest.

Concerned, Praxis covered Keeler’s hands with his own and asked, “You all right?”

The pale-haired man nodded and slipped one of his hands free, running it back through his long locks and meeting Praxis’ lopsided gaze.

“Ahh, yeah, just give me a minute,” he huffed, “Mmmm, so full… ‘s nice.” Slowly he began to rock back and forth against the fighter’s pelvis, humming and smiling down at the larger man. After a moment, he leaned over and brought their mouths together, slender body hovering just inches from the strapping one below him.

They traded soft kisses as Keeler began sliding up and down Praxis’ cock, sharing breaths and touching noses. The fighter brought his hands up to cup Keeler’s face, trail through his hair, and caress his neck and shoulders as he used his tongue to map the inside of the man’s mouth. The navigator rode him, slow and sensual, making each stroke last for ages.

“God, you feel amazing,” Praxis said on an exhale, letting his hands wander down to the slender hips above his own, the motion of their rolling transferred to his wrists as he stroked the soft skin beneath his fingers.

“Ahhhnnnn, I was just going to say the same to you,” Keeler breathed in his ear, making the fighter shiver. He placed one last kiss on Praxis’ lips before sitting back and pumping his legs a little more, lifting up and sinking down with more force, though still unhurried. He dropped one hand to his own cock, which was leaking precome from the tip, swirling it around with his thumb and stroking himself with the rhythm dictated by his body’s motion.

Praxis drank in the sight of the other man enjoying himself, feeling so completely content in that moment; the perfect mixture of pleasure, closeness, and calm. Keeler had the other hand tangled in his own hair, holding it off his face as he bent just slightly at the waist to avoid knocking his head on the underside of the top bunk. He picked up his pace slightly, breathing quickening.

“You’re so beautiful, Keeler,” Praxis said reverently, quietly, feeling heat pool beneath his pelvis. The navigator flushed slightly across his cheekbones, smiling down at Praxis as he moaned in the most filthy way. The sound went straight to the fighter’s dick and he felt his balls tighten in anticipation of release. “Unnnnhhhh, I’m getting close,” he said, hands skittering over Keeler’s hips and thighs, unable to decide where he wanted to touch most.

“Mmmmm, come with me,” Keeler said, a hint of his command voice seeping into the words. He found Praxis’ hand and brought it to his own cock, guiding him for a few strokes, whimpering as he did so. He let go and braced his hands on the fighter’s chest again as he sped up the roll of his hips, Praxis continuing with the same rhythm and grip.

“Ah! Ahhh! Fasssster,” Keeler hissed, motions starting to become erratic until he groaned and spilled hot over Praxis’ fingers. “Yessssssss!”

The throbbing of Keeler’s cock in his hand, and the feeling of him clenching was almost enough to send Praxis over the edge. He bucked his hips up into the navigator once, twice, and groaned loudly as he joined him in orgasm. Keeler lay down on his chest as they just breathed for a few moments. After he’d recovered enough of his faculties to make decisions again, Praxis gently guided the navigator’s hips off his softening cock, laying him down to rest half on his chest, half on the bed. Turning his head, he kissed Keeler’s temple where long hair was sticking to sweat-damp skin, and let out a satisfied sigh.

Keeler looked up at him, and they kissed lazily. “Good morning,” said the pale-haired man, smiling sweetly up at him, rosy-cheeked and eyes still glazed over with residual arousal.

“Yeah, good morning,” Praxis replied, running a hand up and down the other man’s flank. They remained like that for a little while, though Keeler eventually stirred to look at the time displayed on the wall panel.

“You can clean up first, if you like,” Praxis offered, content to lay in the bed for a while longer.

Keeler nodded and slipped over him, standing on slightly shaky legs and walking over to the small bathroom. _Good shaky_ , thought Praxis, smiling. After a few moments he sat up and put his feet on the floor, stretching his arms up and out from underneath the bottom of the bunk above. He grabbed the lube to return it to the drawer, and noticed his eye patch lying on the floor, where it must have fallen from the corner of the mattress at some point.

He stood there, staring, somewhat astonished that he’d managed to completely forget about it. That he hadn’t felt self-conscious making love to Keeler for the first time without it. It hadn’t even been the fact that he was still sleepy; once they’d started fooling around in earnest, he’d woken up the rest of the way pretty quickly. The fact that he'd been so comfortable, and so immersed in just being with the other man was almost strange to think about after the fact. He picked up the small, dark piece of fabric, turning it over in his hand. He left it sitting on the top of the drawers. Praxis was still lost in thought when Keeler emerged.

“I still need to shower. Would you like to join me?”

“Oh, okay, yeah, that sounds good,” Praxis spluttered, a little surprised but giddy nonetheless. “Give me a minute?”

He padded into the bathroom alone, wiped off his sated cock, and relieved himself. Turning on the shower and waiting for it to get steamy, he called the other man in again. The two of them got under the hot spray and Keeler let out a happy sigh, humming as he tipped his head back into the water. Praxis watched as his long hair became a single, shining waterfall, going a deeper shade of platinum.

 _This is the best way I’ve woken up in a_ long _time_ , he thought to himself.

They soaped each other’s bodies and traded soft kisses, but things remained tame; both of them relaxed and happy to just quietly wash together. After getting out and towelling dry, they dressed for the day. Keeler asked if Praxis had seen where his hair elastic had gone to while the fighter slipped his eye patch on. They found it under the bunks after a quick search of the rooms.

“Are you going to check on Ethos?”

“Yeah, I was planning to pop in at med bay to see how he’s doing before heading to the mess hall. Maybe they’ll be ready to release him and we can have breakfast together,” Praxis said, then wondered if Keeler had wanted to eat together. Second-guessing himself and starting to worry, he was lucky when the navigator put him out of his misery quickly.

“Oh good, I was going to apologize for the fact that I’d better meet with Encke over breakfast to hammer out a few things before our days start!” Keeler smiled up at the fighter as he tied off the loose braid he’d been plaiting while they talked.

“Don’t worry about me,” Praxis said, feeling relieved, “I’m sure after the battle there’s a lot for you two to go over today.”

“Ugh, I don’t want to think about it until I have to,” Keeler said, spinning around and blocking the door panel. “Hey, c’mere.” He placed both hands on Praxis’ shoulders, tilted his head up, and kissed him again, long and slow.

“I hope your day goes smoothly,” Praxis said, looking down at the smaller man fondly. “Don’t work too hard.”

Keeler just rolled his eyes, but smiled genuinely as he did it. “Tell Ethos not to worry about his duties for today, and to take whatever rest days the CMO suggests, will you? I wish I could go see him myself, but I just know Encke’s going to be in conniptions already, and being late wouldn’t help matters.”

“Yeah, I’ll tell him for you.” Praxis opened the door.

“Not sure I’ll be free again today, but I’d like to spend time together at a later date, if you’re up for it,” Keeler sort of asked, but his tone said he knew the answer already.

“I’d like that, too,” Praxis said as the door closed. They parted ways, and he headed towards med bay with a spring in his step.

 

***

 

It didn’t take long for Encke to figure out that they were sleeping together. A look between the Lead Fighter and him during PT made Praxis want to turn his head in embarrassment. It was the equivalent of a shovel talk, without a word spoken—there was a reason Encke made such a good authority figure even for the most belligerent fighters.

Keeler never said a word about it when they were together, but he was clearly struggling with the new source of tension between him and his counterpart. He skillfully changed the subject every time Praxis tried to ask if he was okay, or even approach the topic more obliquely. It wasn’t as if they hadn’t had some issues already, but Praxis felt terrible that he might have caused more strain between the pair, especially when his partnership with Ethos was only getting stronger.

His navigator had been so ready to get out of medical, and even wanted to disobey the CMO’s rest orders to get back in the VR rigs for more sim runs the day he’d been released. Over breakfast he’d excitedly told Praxis all about some new ideas he’d had for attack run strategies while stuck under observation. The fighter had managed to convince Ethos to take the day off, instead, and had spent part of it just hanging out with him. Praxis even surprised himself when he didn’t want to leave for training because he was enjoying the younger man’s company so much.

 

Encke was, of course, too professional to take his frustration out on Praxis, but the fighter could tell that he wanted to. A few weeks passed where they interacted as little as possible, so Praxis was startled when Encke sat beside him at an otherwise empty table for lunch one day. Most of the navigators were in a meeting or training or something that had run long, so the room seemed eerily unfilled on one side—though no less noisy, as the fighters had merely opted to be more rowdy than usual.

Praxis’ shoulders tensed, uncertain why the Lead Fighter had come over. At least he hadn’t sat on his blind side, so that was probably a good sign that he didn’t plan to attack.

“Ha ha, relax, Praxis. I’m not here to tear you a new one,” Encke said, with a half smile. “Actually, I kind of wanted to make sure you knew I’m not pissed at you or anything.”

“Oh,” was all Praxis could answer with, a little dumbfounded at first. “Ummm... good?”

“Seriously,” the other man said, stirring at his stew, “Don’t want things to be weirder than they have to be, y’know?”

The two fighters ate in awkward silence for a few moments, Praxis completely unsure how to respond. Eventually, he made an attempt to reach out and accept the olive branch that Keeler’s fighter was offering him.

“I’m sorry if, um, I made things… difficult between you two…”

Encke swallowed and replied, sighing, “It’s not like they weren’t challenging sometimes already.”

Two halves of Praxis’ mind were warring with each other. One wanting to be selfish and take this as a kind of blessing for whatever was going on between him and Keeler. The other, more self-destructive side—seemingly wanting him to shoot himself in the foot—won out.

“Uh, you know, if you really wanted to win Keeler over,” he swallowed, then powered through his thought, “You could try getting on his case less about resting, or working so hard. Um… he cares about you…” Praxis trailed off, feeling a little stupid.

“Are you seriously this self-sabotaging, man?” Encke said, disbelief and even a touch of wry amusement in his voice, “Yeah, I care about Keeler, too… but you managed to find a way to connect with him that I didn’t. Don’t throw that away.” He fixed Praxis with a commanding stare, underlining his point. Praxis just looked at him, a little startled, good eye wide and brows raised.

“…Or I’ll have to conveniently ignore my responsibilities as Lead Fighter and make an appearance in that new brawling ring everyone thinks they’re hiding from me,” Encke continued, with a sly wink, “Just to kick your ass.”

Praxis gave a bark of laughter at that, and Encke’s eyes sparkled for a moment before he became serious again. “Honestly, it might be for the best. We already spend so much time working together… keeping personal stuff separate from that would be nearly impossible… I don’t know if I could manage it.”

Praxis, stubborn as ever, still wanted to try and get his point across to the other man. He took a second to gather his thoughts before saying, as earnestly as possible: “Just, think about what I said? If you could find a way to work _with_ Keeler, to make things easier on him without trying to force him to stop what he’s doing… I think he’d be really happy.”

Encke looked back at him for a long moment, and gave the slightest nod of his head. “I guess I’m just too much of a worrier. I see a problem and want to fix it, and if I can’t… it eats at me.”

“So accept that this isn’t a problem you can fix,” Praxis said, continuing even as the other man frowned, “It’s just something you have to live with. It doesn’t mean you can’t help him _at all_. Just has to be on his terms.”

Encke sighed, his shoulders slumping. “Yeah, yeah, you’re probably right,” he shook his head slowly from side to side and finished the last of his meal.

“Maybe between the two of us, we can manage to be what he needs,” Praxis added, almost as an afterthought. Encke flashed him a handsome smile, then stood to go break up a scuffle that had started on the opposite side of the room.

Praxis was left alone at his table again, with only his thoughts for company. Looking down at his own empty tray, he felt a strange sense of peace settle in him, the last of the tension leaving his shoulders. Even if his advice eventually lead to Keeler and Encke getting together, he knew he owed the navigator that much. His growing friendship with Ethos, and the fact that they were finally working as a team—not to mention the fact that he wasn’t flushing his career down the toilet anymore—was an incredibly valuable gift. A gift that he would be happy to repay in kind, even fractionally.

 

END

**Author's Note:**

> The ending is purposely a bit vague in terms of where things go in future, because I love Keeler/Encke, and wanted to leave it open for interpretation (K/P, K/E, or an OT3?). This story was about exploring possibilities between characters who I think pair well and could have a great dynamic, even if it would never happen in canon. If you have thoughts on any of this, feel free to leave a comment or come find me on [tumblr](https://goodyeartheshippycat.tumblr.com/) — I’d love to chat about it!


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